


In Peace, Vigilance

by Skarias



Series: Andraste's Grace [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Halamshiral (Dragon Age), Light Angst, Like a lot of yelling, Mahariel is a mess, Night Terrors, there's yelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-10-31 18:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17855177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skarias/pseuds/Skarias
Summary: Collection of one-shots featuring Warden-Commander Sarah Mahariel, Leliana and the rest of the gang.





	1. There's nothing like a Grey Warden

**Author's Note:**

> There's nothing like a Grey Warden. And you are nothing like a Grey Warden. 
> 
> Spoilers for Blackwall's personal quest.

 

It was some time past midday, the sun still high above the timeworn walls of Skyhold, when the warden descended the stairs that led outside the great hall and into the fortress’s courtyard. She brushed past the so-called nobles and self proclaimed aristocrats like she always did, paying little attention to the gazes drilling in her backside that were evenly split into curiosity, disdain and something she would classify as recognition. Sarah hated the attention, every last drop of it, but it was a necessary sacrifice for what was to come next.

The news of the Inquisitor’s return had spread quickly through the fortress, her expedition into the wilds bordering the Frostback Mountains having apparently yielded whatever she was after. She made a mental note to ask Leliana about it later. Unlike every other face that brushed past her, the Warden had no need to see Lady Trevelyan today. Instead, she had business with the elusive Warden Blackwall. From what she gathered in the few days that she had been at Skyhold, the man had all but jumped at the opportunity to accompany the Inquisitor on her travels the moment he knew about the Warden-Commander’s arrival. If she were a cynical elf, she’d say he was avoiding her. And after a debrief with the Nightingale, she knew that he had good reason for doing so.

Something Sarah was about to correct.

The warden imagined that she must paint quite the picture striding through Skyhold’s courtyard. She was dressed like the day Alistair had taken his rightful place on the Ferelden throne, and the first time she could look into the future and see something other than blood and war. Sarah shook her head, banishing the images of the past toward the back if her mind and pressing on. The gleaming armor made of dragon scales and the finest leather Wade had been able to get his hands on weighted heavy on her shoulders. The golden griffon on her chest reflected the sunlight as her destination came into view.

“Warden Blackwall?” she called while crossing the gate into the welcome shade of the barn. Looking around Sarah found little more than stacks of hay and a set of wooden tables and chairs. A moment later she heard footsteps coming from above, footsteps that quickly came closer as they descended the creaking stairs behind her.

“What do you wan-” the man, who she assumed to be Blackwall, froze in place. It took him a few seconds to collect his bearings, but eventually he found his voice again. “Warden-Commander Mahariel.” His posture was tense, almost rigid. Really, it would have been almost funny if she didn’t know the exact reason for it.

“At ease, Blackwall.” Sarah mustered her best impression of a smile, something she had learned to fake a long time ago with the help of a certain bard. “It’s good to see another one of the Order outside the Anderfels. We’re a rare breed these days, even more so than in the past.” She measured his reaction to every word that left her mouth and, while his posture didn’t relax, he showed no sign of intending to giving her a response. “Please, sit. I arrived at Skyhold but a few days ago and I would like to hear about the situation in Ferelden.”

While it was true that she had been traveling for many years and couldn’t keep up with everything that had happened, she knew enough from the wardens present at Weisshaupt and what Leliana had told her already to see if Blackwall could at least keep his story straight.

As it turned out, he could. Even if he dodged more and more questions as they became more personal and she guessed the only things he really knew about the Grey Wardens came from textbooks. Sarah decided to try something else. Something a little more...radical.

Carefully placing the bag that was until now slung around her shoulder, she rummaged through it’s contents until she fished several bowls and a pouch of cloth out of it. She placed the bowls on the table that separated herself from Blackwall and pulled a small, inky black vial out of the cloth. “It’s beautiful, in a way, isn’t it?”

Blackwall stared at the vial for a moment, and the warden watched as realization set in. “Darkspawn blood.”

She nodded. “I always have a little bit on me, the pull always inspires a bit of nostalgia.” In truth, Sarah could’ve barely felt the black liquid in it’s container even if it were real, her connection to the darkspawn wavering with every passing day after she found her cure for the calling and left Weisshaupt behind weeks ago. But precious few people knew that, and Blackwall wasn’t one of them. He only nodded, keeping up his facade and his imaginary connection to the bottle of black paint. His eyes were still fixed on the vial when she continued. “Humor me, Blackwall. During the Blight, Alistair and I came up with a little game to keep ourselves entertained. A way to keep our senses sharp, so we could always sense the enemy long before they would surprise us at camp.” the warden pointed toward the five bowls lying before her. “It’s quiet simple. You close your eyes and I cover the vial with one of these bowls and you tell me which one covers it.”

Now it was Blackwall’s turn to nod in agreement, only his eyes betrayed his actions. And so he closed his eyes, and opened them again on the Warden-Commanders command. He pointed toward the left most bowl with all the confidence of a liar and thief, and failed. “I apologize, it has been many years since my joining and it appears my senses have… dulled over time. May I try again?” he asked, and she agreed, if only to be certain.

The game continued for another few rounds, the bowl turning up empty every time and the smile on Sarah’s face feeling harder to uphold with every passing minute. “It has been a rather tiring day, Warden-Commander, if we could continue this game after I had some rest I assure you that-”

“A bloody Genlock could have done this, Blackwall!” the warden cut him off, her patience having run out. She reached into the small pouch on her arm, and revealed a black vial. “Can you feel it, ‘Warden’? The darkspawn blood?” she hauled the vial across the room, the glass shattering on impact and the liquid painting the wood black.

“Fake. But how could you have known that, right?” Blackwall was about to rise from his position, but Sarah was faster. She pulled the blade from the scabbard around her waist and pressed the tip to his chin. “You know, when I received the letter asking information about warden Blackwall back at Weisshaupt, some of the senior wardens had quiet the tales to tell. For instance, did you know that you lost your left eye while rescuing seven fellow wardens from a collapsing tunnel? I hear they awarded you the Silverite Wings for that one, but I never knew they had such advanced healers. It’s quite fascinating, they even removed the scarring on your face.” she let the blade trail inches from his face and stopped once it reached his left eye.

“If you just let me explain I can-”

“I don’t care for your explanations! I know your name, Thom Rainier, and I don’t care for it. You have no idea what it means to be a Grey Warden, no idea what it means to sacrifice, to see the taint destroy someone you love until there’s nothing left of them! To fight a war for a nation that would love nothing more than to forget you even existed!” Sarah paused briefly, removing her blade from the man’s face. “You are unworthy of the griffon on your chest.” the Warden-Commander pushed her chair back and got to her feet, turning toward the gate that lead outside. “You have one day. One day to tell Trevelyan everything, or I will personally make sure that it is your blood that will fuel the next joining, _warden Blackwall_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea was bouncing around in my mind for a while now, Sarah came out (a lot) angrier in the end than I had originally planned, but it felt natural enough for me to go with it.
> 
> Not sure if I'll be able to update this regularly, so let's just see where this goes. If you want to see anything specific portayed, you can leave your ideas in the comments!


	2. The Winter Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure fluff because I'm trash.

The warden’s days in Orlais were spent in a blur that consisted of her being ushered through ivory streets, past statues that would have been impressive, if she had known anything about the heroes they depicted aside the simple fact that no one had ever taught them how to smile. Attending what Vivienne had called ‘behavior training’, but in reality was little more than Orlesians with, names even fancier than their frilled clothes, drilling – what they considered to be critical information – into her head. Critical information such as what spoon to use at dinner with the Empress, because for whatever reason Orlesians needed more than one spoon, and how to properly introduce oneself to a ~~pretentious idiot~~ nobleman once they would arrive at the Winter Palace. Sarah was sure she would have gone insane by the third day if she didn’t also spend every other waking moment practicing different Orlesian dances with the Inquisition’s spymaster.

The feeling of softly swaying through their room in Leliana’s arms was worth sitting through the seemingly endless hours of Lady de Fer’s lectures, even if the notion of venturing alone into the deep roads for an early calling popped up several times and introduced itself as a more rational way to pass the time than to try and memorize every piece of silver cutlery that was laid out before her. The whole ordeal lasted about two weeks, the warden wasn’t quiet sure as she had stopped counting the days since the night she had first dreamt of tiny forks and plates chasing her through the streets of Denerim.

Two weeks of preparation for this very moment, and everything that would come after. They stood at one end of a ball room that was as enormous as it was lavish and that dwarfed Skyhold’s halls in comparison. Halamshiral effortlessly made the Inquisition's stronghold look like child’s play. The room was decked in blue velvet that clung to the walls and hung just low enough not to touch the floor. A floor that appeared as if it were a single black mirror in which one could see their reflection without a hint of distortion. A familiar, warm hand slipped into her own and gave it a subtle squeeze. Sarah let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. It was as if they were surrounded by darkspawn, only waiting for her to make a mistake that would allow them to rip her apart right where she stood. She let her gaze travel through the hall and decided that darkspawn that wore expensive masks could still be darkspawn.

The man reading through the announcements of the Inquisitor’s guests continued and to her left, Cullen began to move forward and follow into Trevelyan’s wake.

_-_

“You know you don’t have to do this, right? I couldn’t care less whether these masked idiots know about us or not.” the warden leant against the frame of the open door, the wake of the sun setting behind the Frostbacks casting the loft into a reddish light wherever the elf’s silhouette didn’t cast a shadow. “I don’t want to be the reason for some doors to be closed shut for you at court.”

Leliana’s eyes flickered from Sarah to the ring on her hand, the woven silhouette of a halla’s head reflecting the incoming sunlight. She searched her partner’s hand for the other half of the pair but couldn’t quiet spot it in the dim lighting. “I know.” she whispered finally. She know that she should be ecstatic about attending the ball at the Winter Palace, but she wasn’t. All she could see where the vultures in the shadows, the vipers hidden deep in the throats of any gracious host or old friend. There may have been a time in Leliana’s life when the lies excited her, when the game was more invigorating than tiring, but now, now the only thing she wished for was with her in this room. But how could she? How could she be the Nightingale and the spymaster the Inquisition needed when she allowed herself to be selfish?

“Leli?” a touch on her shoulder startled her and shook her back into reality, she heard the warden behind her suppress a small laugh. “I think you’ve worked enough for today, how about you take a break and we take a walk around the rookery?” Leliana took her hand with a smile and let herself be let outside their loft.

_-_

Cullen took his place next to Cassandra on the opposite end of the room, the announcer continued. “Now introducing Lady Leliana, Nightingale to the Imperial Court, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, Seneschal of the Inquisition and Left Hand of the Divine.” with a hint of hesitation Leliana’s hand slipped out of her grasp, the sudden coldness that engulfed her made her want to throw a coat over her uniform. Sarah sucked in a breath and steeled herself for what came next.

“Lady Sarah Mahariel, Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Champion of Redcliffe, Arlessa of Amaranthine,-” they were empty words, titles the humans bestowed upon each other to make themselves feel better and more important when they compared themselves to their brothers and sisters. Sarah never cared about titles, and that wouldn’t change today.

_-_

The letters lay before her on the desk, taunting her unrelentingly. In theory, filling in such simple information as how they wanted to be addressed when introduced at Halamshiral and to Empress Celene should have been second nature to her. In reality, however, she found herself gripping the feather in her hand hard enough for her knuckles to turn white and unsure on how exactly to continue. She knew every single one of her names and titles by heart, and bringing them to paper was anything but hard, the real challenge came in the form of what had been discussed the previous evening. Her mind flashed to Orlais, to devils hiding behind radiant smiles and golden masks. And then, without warning, she was back on the rookery. A familiar pressure against her hand, the crisp coldness of the mountain air around her and in her lungs. A soft strain of hair tucked out of her face, a touch that lingered on her cheek. A stolen moment, a kiss between crows and battlements like a hundred before. Leliana shook her head, a smile on her face that she couldn’t shake off followed as she carefully wrapped the documents into an envelope and personally delivered them to Josephine.

-

“betrothed to the Nightingale of Orlais, and Hero of Ferelden.” the warden had barely taken one step when she suddenly froze in place. That hadn’t been the plan. That hadn’t been the plan at all and yet... and yet she couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed deep within her. Looking ahead she found the only thing more radiant than Leliana’s dress to be her eyes. Sarah couldn’t help but grin down at the silver Nightingale ordaining the space where a Dalish Keeper would have worn their sylvanwood ring. Taking her place next to the spymaster she found the same expression on the usually unreadable face she kept around these people.

“I believe the duchess of Val Colline just fainted.” Leliana breathed just loud enough for the warden to hear.

“Did I tell you I love you?” it took every ounce of restraint not to kiss her right here in front of the Empress and surrounded by every person that considered themselves important in Orlais.

“Yes, but you won’t hear any objections coming from me.” behind them the announcer continued onward with whoever came next. Truth be told there could have been a dragon coming crashing through the ceiling behind her and neither of them would have noticed. “And never again think that there’s anything more important in my life than you.”


	3. Dead Man's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation of Chapter 1. Enjoy!

The sound of leather bound boots hitting rhythmically against the spiral staircase echoed through Skyhold’s prison block. ‘Prison’ was perhaps too much of a word, in reality the handful of damp, square shaped cells were in no condition to be called much more than a temporary solution. Which was what they were supposed to be, Sarah figured. The chambers carved deep into the heart of the mountain had been left empty more often than not for as long as the Inquisition had reigned over the fortress. Today, however, was not one of these days. Today they held but a single prisoner, which was precisely the reason the Wardentook a sharp turn to the left, leaving the corridor behind and approaching the one cell not left empty.

Inside sat a man dressed in the ragged clothes of someone that felt far more comfortable inside the heavy plates of armor than any silk or satin produced in the fine shops of Orlais. A man she knew very little about save what she had been told and what she had seen so far, which, in hindsight, was very little. Yet enough to validate the Inquisition’s concerns. For a moment she hesitated, a small voice inside her head she had kept quiet until now spoke up and asked the one question she had tried to avoid the past few days. _What if this was a mistake?_

_It wasn’t. It wouldn’t be._

“What do you want?” Blackwall, _Thom_ , asked without looking up from the cobblestone floor beneath them. There was something in his voice she couldn’t quiet place, until she could. It was a hollow sound, the sound of a man waiting for naught but his death. A man that has given up on fighting and hiding, a man prepared for the bitter embrace of the headsman’s axe and the dark oblivion that followed. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” Even if she had known what to answer, she didn’t get the chance. “And you were right, too, about what you said. I’m a liar, a cheat… a coward. When Blackwall, the real Blackwall, was killed, I ran. I took his name, his feats and legacy. I thought I could change something, really make a difference… but I’m not a Warden, just another murderer. I belong here.”

There was a moment of silence in which nothing but the sound of the wind howling against the barred windows and the chirping of the few birds resilient enough to withstand the Frostback’s harsh climate filled the air. “When I was recruited into the Wardens some ten years ago I didn’t have much of a choice.” Sarah said, recounting what she could still remember of that fateful day so long ago. “Either follow the Wardens to Ostagar or die a slow and painful death at the hands of the taint. Duncan was the name of the man that found me and asked me come with him, he was a hero in his own right.”

She paused briefly, but continued as Thom still didn’t raise his head to meet her eyes. “I didn’t trust him at first, of course. But when we came through a village and I realized that most people couldn’t decide who to gawk at, the savage knife ear or the Grey Warden, I asked him a question I don’t think I’ll ever forget. ‘What is a Grey Warden truly?’.” That seemed to get his attention. Thom lifted his head ever so slightly, not enough for any human eye to detect the movement, but enough for her to continue. “Everyone has heard the stories about the heroic deeds of the wardens, but I figured there was more to the tale. He looked around, then, and took in all the people as we passed them and traveled through the village, and then he said: ‘Depending on who you were to ask, we’re either saviors or thugs, murderers or guardians. If you ask me, I’d say we’re whatever it takes to win a war we cannot afford to lose, and I only hope it will be enough.’”

“Why are you telling me this?” Thom asked, he now stood opposite of the Warden, a set of thick, iron bars separating them. “I told you, I am no warden, everything I did, everything _I am_ is build on a lie.” The hollowness inside his voice had been replaced by something akinto irritation, and anger, too.

“You put the Inquisitor, and the Inquisition as a whole, in jeopardy every time you pretended to be what you’re not. You put the people that called you a friend in danger every time they put their trust in your ability as a Warden. You’re right, you’re everything you said you are and more, and yet here you are. At the very eye of the storm in a war against a foe that would have most honest men covering in fear or running away in terror. You asked me why I was here, so here is your answer:You’re not an honest man, very few are. But you threw yourself at the Breach and followed the Inquisition without hesitation, it is for that reason, and that reason alone, that I’m here to give you a choice.”

Sarah took a step back from the cell and slowly knelt down on one knee. She carefully placed the bundle of cloth, that had been hidden in the shadows of the dark room until now, on the cold stones at her feet. Unwrapping the dirtied fabric, and revealing two items lying on the battered flag adorned with a faded griffon, she placed one of them on either side of the long extinct creature. A crooked dagger to the left, it’s edges sharp and the metal reflecting what little light crept into the cell, and a metallic brooch mirroring the banner’s crest on the right.

“If you ask me, I’d say we're a second chance for all those of us who want to be better than they were the day before. Never forget who you were yesterday, but don’t let it define who you’re going to be tomorrow. Choose well, Rainier.” With Duncan’s words echoing in her head the Warden left the cell behind and returned to the world above. The wheel of fate may yet turn, but she would be damned if she wouldn’t have a hand in where it would come to a standstill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole bunch of Duncan headcanons in this one, maybe I should write something about his time with Sarah before everything went to shit at Ostagar.
> 
> Anyway, if there's anything you want to see me write about leave it in the comments!


	4. Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even ten years after the Blight, the dreams never really go away.

_The screams of beast and men around her alike are dampened only by the fresh blood running through her fingers, the broken form lying in her arms withering away. It sticks to her fingers, slips through the invisible cracks between chainmail and sinks into her skin. It’s everywhere, trying to drown her, pull her into the depths below. Maybe she should let it, she’d done what she was to do. She had played her part in this grandest of plays._

_A god lies dead at her feet, battered and beaten and conquered. To slow, to little… to late to safe her heart from the clutches of the void reaching for their price. There are footsteps around her, she thinks the clashing of steel against steel has stopped. The woman in her arm lets out a ragged, shaky breath, shorter than the last, please, don’t let it be her last._

_Someone grabs her arm, she tries to ignore them, to freeze this moment in place and keep them both right here forever. Together, alive, unbroken. Something’s pulling at her, and at last she turns her head, eyes ablaze with the fury of a hundred words unsaid, a thousand days unlived. It takes a moment, but through dancing flames and walls of smoke she meets Alistair’s cold gaze. She doesn’t catch a word that’s said around her, the Archdemon’s roar yet lingers in her mind. He lies not far from where they cower in the dust, unmoving and lifeless and dead. Dead like the woman in her arms, dead like she would love nothing more but to be._

Sarah awoke with a start, her eyes frantically darting through the room for a moment that threatened to stretch into several eternities. She exhaled slowly, once, twice, waiting for the adrenaline that pumped through her veins to subside.

She never expected the dreams to just _stop_ after the Blight, but after ten years she would’ve thought that they at least lost some of the hold that they held on her. Letting her head drop back onto the soaked through pillowcase she started to count for the lack of an alternative.

Fifty-four, no, fifty-five boards of wood that held the ceiling above their heads, seven reports on the desk waiting for revisioning, three heartbeats inside her chest for every second that passed. Lonely slivers of moonlight slipped through the curtains and helped distract her from the part that’s almost worse than the nightmares themselves. The scenes played in her mind over and over again, she can still taste the blood in her mouth, feel the ash cling to her very being.

Something stirred in the sheets beside her, and before she can act she feels a soft hand on her arm. “Couldn’t sleep?” Leliana’s voice was is thick with sleep, and messy strains of red hair covered most of her face.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’.” Leliana propped herself up on one arm, her eyes glimmered even in the all but absolute darkness of the room and shone brighter than the moon. “I heard you shaking in your sleep again.”

“I’m-” it’s been hardly a week since Sarah had arrived at Skyhold, and already her problems had begun to stop being exactly that. Her problems. “It was just a dream. I’m fine.”

There was a brief moment of silence, in which the Warden almost dared to hope that they could drop the matter. Leliana shouldn’t have to fight her battles for her. Not again, not after everything they went through to get here. “It was Denerim again, wasn’t it?”

She considered to lie, to fall into the old habit of half truths and vague answers that had helped keep her alive for the last decade. It would have been so much easier, to pretend like everything was going to be alright, like the dreams would just go away if they only waited it out. And who knows, if it had been anyone else lying beside her in that bed, maybe she would have done just that.

But it was just the two of them, and so she took in another deep breath. Because there really only was one thing she was sure she could never do, and that was to lie to Leliana. “It’s always Denerim.” the words felt heavy, but like a floodgate kicked open she, too, didn’t stop. “It felt so real... it always feels so real. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen the same scenes play out over and over again. How many times I’ve watched you die, and Alistair, and Wynne and Zevran. I don’t know how many times I’ll be able to see it before I…”

“Hey,” Sarah hadn’t noticed she had trailed off until Leliana touched her arm again, a steadying anchor keeping her from the dark places inside her head. “Hey, look at me.” reluctantly she followed Leliana’s instructions, only to be met by the same radiant pair of eyes. “I’m right here, I’m alive, we’re alive.” the words sunk in, but somehow they didn’t feel real. “We’re going to be okay, alright?”

It was a lie of course, they both knew that they were as far away from being ‘okay’ than it got. But that didn’t matter, not really, because they were together again. And whatever came next, they could figure it out together, and right now, that was enough for her.


	5. Exasperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before she was a Warden, before she fought a war, she was a just girl, and she was afraid.

Duncan isn’t quiet sure what to make of her just yet. There’s fury behind her eyes, so much had been obvious from the day he had met her. But there was something else, something twisted and dark, an emotion he knew all too well.

“You’re still angry.” he observes one quiet night around the campfire. The flames had died down some time ago, and only low embers were left drifting about the ashes.

“I am? I hadn’t noticed.” Sarah replies absently, struggling to cut off another bit of sinewy meat in her bowl of improvised stew.

“Well, for one you have been dissecting that poor bit of rabbit for the last few hours.”

“Maybe I just don’t like your cooking.”

Duncan chuckles, a low sound carried with the wind. “You wound me. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“I don’t make friends with shem.” says Sarah. It appears she finally gave up on her supper, discarding the half-empty bowl on a bed of rustling leaves.

Duncan chooses a different approach. He reaches for his sword leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree and rises to his feet. Sarah’s head perks up just as he throws another blade in her direction, it impales the log she’s sitting on. The elf rolls her eyes.

“I’m not going to hit you, old man."

Duncan lunges forward. “I’m afraid I won’t give you a choice in that matter.” His blade connects and splits the wood in two where she had been sitting until now.

“You don’t want this.” Sarah staggers backwards, blade in hand, the ground beneath their feet was still wet and muddy from recent rainfall.

“You’re right, I don’t.” he charges again, this time steel meets steel. “But you do.” the sound of clashing metal rings through the forest, they move back and forth, ground is won and lost at a seconds notice. “You’re afraid, you’re bitter, and you’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry! I’m fucking furious!” Their dance shifts, Duncan is pushed back into deflecting one flurry of blows after another. “Wouldn’t you be? After having everything taken away from you?!”

“So what’s your plan? Sulk until we arrive at Ostagar?” it's the elder Warden's turn to be on the attack, pushing Sarah backwards against a nearby tree. “Be angry at the world for the rest of your days?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Tears were welling up in her eyes. “I lost everything I ever cared about!” Sarah pushes back, making up lost ground. “My family!” Her blows have turned wild, unpredictable. “My home! My future!”

In one swift motion, Duncan disarms his opponent. Her sword soaring through the air before burrowing itself in the dirt across the camp. He holds his pose for a moment, his blade pointed squarely at her chest. Then he relaxes.

“I don’t need your pity, Warden.” she brushes past him, her eyes aiming for the woods around them.

He stops her, one strong hand on her shoulder holding her in place. “No, you don’t. But maybe you could use a friend.”

Sarah didn’t turn around, shakes the hand off her shoulder, and vanishes into the night.


End file.
